


The Heir to a Fortune

by uumuu



Series: Fëanorian Family Moments [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 14:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14114499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: Caranthir receives a gift from his father.





	The Heir to a Fortune

“Moryo, could you come with me? I won't take too much of your time.”

Fëanáro had already disappeared down the hallway when Carnistir carefully set tape measure and scissors down and followed him. He caught up with him easily enough – he was taller than his father now – and fell into stride with him. 

“How is your project coming along?”

“Wonderfully. The beads you made for me look fantastic against the silk I'm using.”

Fëanáro nodded. “Remember when you would get angry whenever I tried talking to you while you were working on a project?”

Of course Carnistir remembered. It wasn't just that he hated being interrupted. When he was younger he had been convinced that his father didn't care about his work and didn't think him capable of doing anything of note. He had been annoyed by his father's manner, too – the self-assurance that made his own lack of confidence sting twice as badly, the blunt directness that left no room for excuses. Sometimes he marvelled that his father didn't end up hating him, given the many petty fights he had picked with him and the long hours he had spent glowering up at him and sulking for no reason at all. 

“I was ridiculous.”

“You were young.” Fëanáro smiled, but his smile was tinged with melancholy and he fell silent.

Carnistir started wondering whether something might be wrong, but he was hesitant to ask. Though he had come to realise that his father and he were very alike – terribly alike, his mother would have said – he wasn't very good at offering advice or comfort. So he kept silent too, and followed close behind as Fëanáro veered towards the store rooms.

An issue with supplies was out of the question. Fëanáro would have been angry, quite openly so, rather than vaguely upset, and Maitimo or Curufinwë usually dealt with the suppliers anyway. Carnistir's curiosity doubled as his father disentangled a key from the necklace he always wore and unlocked the little side door hidden behind a stack a boxes in the largest of the store rooms. 

The existence of the annex was not a secret to him, but Carnistir had been there only a couple of times and so many years before he barely remembered it. The room had nothing special about it, just a table to one side and some chests on the other, with two cupboards taking up the corners. No flashy items, no treasure hoard, at least not in plain sight. 

Fëanáro entered and unscreened a couple of lamps.

“I...want to show you something,” he said, beckoning Carnistir inside.

Carnistir closed the door behind him, and when he turned towards his father again, Fëanáro had already retrieved something from one of the chests and was spreading it out on the table.

Carnistir started and had to blink several times. His heart sped up for a few moments until the image settled in his mind and he was completely sure that what he beheld was not a true fire and couldn't have been. It was a large embroidery, fiendishly life-like, mesmerising. The flames danced out from a spiral in vivid shades of orange and red, and seemed to shift under his very eyes. He was surprised he didn't hear them crackle. 

It wasn't hard to guess whose work it was, even before Fëanáro said, in a tight voice, “my mother's inheritance.”

“It is...beautiful,” Carnistir said, feeling silly for only being able to say something so trite.

“She left a variety of fabrics and small odds and ends behind. Some she worked on for years, some she made specifically for me.”

“How many rolls are there?”

“Three chests. Very few people have ever seen them.”

Carnistir stooped over to better look at the embroidery. Míriel had employed a variety of stitches, and even up close they were flawless. He cast a glance at his father. Fëanáro nodded to him, so Carnistir gently skimmed the embroidery with his hand, assessing its textures. The threads were sinfully smooth under his fingers, like butter, and no ungainly bumps marred the surface of the fabric. He was glad that his father had decided to show it to him, but it also made him realise just how far behind he was, how unskilled compared to his grandmother who could never teach him how to be as good as her. 

“They are yours now.”

“What?” Carnistir straightened, and faced his father, utterly dumbfounded. “Mine?”

“As I said. I'm giving them to you.”

“All of them?” 

“Yes. Well, except maybe a couple. There was one I used as a blanket when I was a child. I nearly fainted the day I noticed some of the stitches had come loose.” Fëanáro gave a nervous laugh. Carnistir could have sworn his eyes were just a little hazy. “I'll make you a copy of the key to this room, so you can come here and inspect them whenever you please. Or you can store them in your room if you wish, of course.”

Carnistir looked at the fabric again, at the open chest from where a second roll peeked out, at the other two chests standing next to it, guarding treasures that were priceless, objects of veneration.

“But why? I can't...” he stuttered, “I'm not –”

“Moryo, don't be ridiculous again. I've seen you work.”

Carnistir huffed, and drew both hands over his face. His mind was in a turmoil. The gift came out of the blue, and in a way it was like his father was putting a piece of his heart in his hands, but there was no denying it, no hiding behind self-doubt. He was happy. Unspeakably happy. He didn't think he was ever going to recover from all that happiness. He closed one hand into a fist and planted it very gently in the middle of his father's chest. “I hate you,” he said very quietly.

Fëanáro smiled, and looked relieved. He grabbed Carnistir's arms and pulled him into a powerful embrace, which Carnistir returned in kind.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation I had with a friend.


End file.
